Lying Bastard
by Apocalyptical Angel
Summary: Fiona and Michael had fought before, but this was something entirely different. Even an argument isn't easy when you're dating a spy.


**Lying Bastard**

 **Summary;** Fiona and Michael had fought before, but this was something entirely different. Even an argument isn't easy when you're dating a spy.

 **Rating;** M (language and sexual situations)

 **Pairing;** Michael and Fiona (love them so much- I would love to be Fiona Glenanne)

 **Disclaimer;** I own nothing from this series except a massive lady boner for fictional characters (chins included). I make no profit from this writing and play with borrowed toys, but I love these toys so much!

* * *

"You BASTARD!" Fiona plucked the stapler from the desk, throwing it with a shockingly powerful force and deadly accuracy to Michael's head. He ducked at the last second, cringing as it smashed into the coffee maker behind him. He could almost muster the regret for ducking; it was brand new.

There was little left in the small kitchen that was operational, the steel paperweight that had fractured the microwave was amongst the worst of the destruction.

Fi moved onto the box under the desk, her hands finding purchase on a cold metal chain, she yanked it out without a second thought. Leaning over the railings, she launched the object at her target. "OLD friend?!" she spat out. The chain unfurled in the air, before crumpling to collide with the chair Michael had just skated past.

"Fi, you're overreacting." he shouted back, trying to contain the storm. Trying to keep his eyes from the fridge that was leaking yogurt from the bullet holes that riddled it. He guessed he should be happy she had only thought to take the one gun with her today. But as soon as that clip had emptied it had become the next projectile to aim at him. It wasn't how he was expecting to greet her.

"You SLEPT with her!" she screamed. "Over, and over, and over 'n' fucking over!" her voice was going hoarse, breaking on a few syllables, but Fiona didn't cry in a corner, she scratched and clawed until the emotions wore thin enough to justify an extreme move.

"We weren't together." he defended himself, slipping under the upper level and planning to stay there until she calmed down. It wasn't hiding, it was a strategic defensive manoeuvre.

"I know that!" she hissed.

"It was three years ago." he replied, desperately wishing for a time machine, if only to pick himself up a shield before he entered.

"That is NOT the point! God damn it Michael!" with no more target to aim at, her anger demanded she pissed him off. It kicked out her foot to the boxes of paperwork, setting them sailing off the upper level, their photos and papers spilling out, dancing in the air and losing all order and organisation. Michael groaned beneath her and she felt some vindication. "I walked in there expectin' 'nother day, 'nother job, 'nother client." Fiona's temper was rising, her accent slipping here and there on vowels. "An' she just wants you, all I can hear is how good you are, how much she wants you 'n' how lame her 'case' is to try 'n' meet with you again."

And there lied the problem, it had taken 15 minutes and all of his stationary launched at his head, but Fiona had gotten down to the base problem. He'd been offered a client with good money, but a client who he had a drunken, miserable history with, without a second thought, he'd passed it along thinking Sam would enjoy the opportunity, but Fiona had somehow been handed it. Knowing Fi, she had probably begged Sam for the case to keep busy, but it wouldn't do any good mentioning that now. Not if he wanted to keep that desk from smashing into his floor, or head. He liked that desk, it was a good height for his legs. "What you don't do, is let me go and meet her!"

"Fi, y…" but the words 'you chose the case' were in his head as his only reply and that was not going to fall well. He dropped short and kept his mouth shut.

"You tell me!" she suggested angrily, her voice nearer as she probably leaned over the banister trying to spot him. "Ya send Sam, ya go yourself for fuck sake." Anger was bubbling beneath and his tactical retreat under the upper level was not sitting well with settling her.

He needed to repair the situation.

"Fi." he surrendered up his hands and stepped back out into her line of sight. Negotiations were best done face to face. "She was just one woman… she meant noth-"

"Well you certainly didn't mean nothing to her!" she hurled another verbal fireball his way but nothing corporeal was aimed for the moment. As her rage sizzled her irish accent was released. "She walks in in fuck-me heels, covered in make-up 'n' asks where Michael is." He couldn't lie and say she was unattractive, the woman had been a polish supermodel. "She doesn't want anythin' to do with me, she just wants Michael. Every other stupid sentence is about how well ya handled things, how well ya supported her, how well ya _fucked her_ _better than anyone else had_." Fiona put on an effortless polish accent to mimic the words.

"It was a long time ago." he repeated but he knew he was fighting a losing battle as it stood now. The situation needed a change.

Fiona supplied it.

"Not t' her!" she bent down, grabbing the screwdriver that had tumbled from the bottom of the box of paper and lobbed it. She scored a hit to Michael's shoulder though her target had been between his stupid blue eyes; her aim was never perfect when clouded by rage. "How would you feel if ya had t' meet one of my ex's." he'd like to say he wouldn't care but he knew it wasn't true. "Oh yeah, ya said you'd put a bullet in them!" she screamed. With no more weapons lying handy, Fiona started scanning the area. "But what if ya had t'. What if ya had t' smile when all ya wanna do it rip 'er stupid extension from 'er skull 'n' empty a clip in 'er fucking brain?!" Running out of weapons, Fiona made for the stairs, to start the physical fight downstairs. Michael was standing instantly at the bottom, ready to block every punch and kick. She might have the upper ground, but with Michael he'd be in a perfect position to grab her and set her on the floor in a heartbeat.

"Fi, I'm sorry." It was his last attempt for her.

"Sorry? Fucking sorry? Y' have no idea what I felt like sitting there with 'er."

Michael began to advance up the stairs, over the cardboard boxes and broken glass. She stamped her foot to ward him off but quickly found her newest weapons. The heels were to die for, beautifully decorated with a 4 inch heel that made the crystal white dress she was wearing look like an angel's gown.

Michael just saw the muscle piercing stiletto and paused for a split second. He didn't even know how she managed to walk it them, throwing them would not end well. He was drawing the line, he'd made his efforts to amend this, but he was not taking a shoe to the face.

"Fi."

The tone made her think twice, it held a stern capacity she hadn't heard before. She wasn't backing down though.

The heels flew past his right shoulder, a warning to back off. But Michael took it for the good sign it was, with her abilities, at this range, it could have hit quite well.

"Fi." he spoke slowly, like you did with a desperate man on a ledge, or a man holding a gun to your head. "I didn't intend for you to go. I'm sorry it happened that wa-"

"So it's my fault?!" he'd barely touched on words and she jumped to the very conclusion he wanted to avoid.

"She meant nothing to me, she was just there." He'd like to say he didn't remember her name, but he did, and he knew exactly what had led him into accepting her room key. "I felt nothing for her." But the admission, or possibly the ignorance to her irate questioning earned him the second heel flying straight and hitting his shoulder with force.

She watched as he turned his body back to her, a little patch of skin on his shoulder was starting to bubble blood. And like the blood, his anger had finally been freed as well, the patience in his eyes had given way to the underlying fury one quick pop after the other.

Fiona slipped back a bare foot on the metal flooring.

He leapt up the remaining stairs and in the blink of an eye he was standing a hair width from her.

Her fist flew. He caught and dropped it.

Her foot kicked out, meant to meet with a knee and drop him. He dodged it neatly.

A punch to the temple swept by him as he blocked with his arm.

Another punch, another sidestep, a block, a redirection.

Fi's anger was only further fuelled by Michaels. The inability to do damage was grating on her nerves. She wanted him to feel the pain she had felt in that restaurant.

Her pride was burning in embarrassment as yet again he pushed her off balance as she drew up her knee to land a dirty blow.

It was enough for him, he kept her balance off centre and drove her backward into the wall. Her back arched as she hit, pressing into the hard chest she loved. His hands caged her in and he wasn't moving.

She jabbed out her elbow for soft tissue. He interjected the trajectory, using his grip on the offending limb to twist and push her to face the wall, her free hand captured and both pinned against her back.

She looped her leg behind him, aiming to drag him down and nut him. He stopped her with a simple wrist lock putting pressure on her painfully. Just as quick, he released the lock and kept a tight hold.

She huffed out a breath at the wall, he could read her features, knowing she was planning for a successful manoeuvre and coming up short.

"Fi," he began but she instantly started struggling again, uselessly rocking him and gaining no power. She knew very well he had the upper hand and she was unlikely to overpower him without doing serious damage to him, she wasn't quite up to breaking all the bones in his foot. Yet. "Fiona Glenanne, you will listen to me." He spoke clearly, pushing her a slightly bit harder and feeling her still. His mouth settled near her ear. "I made a mistake, I apologise." Her heart was beating fast, the adrenaline spiking her blood pressure. "You know how I feel about you and a mistake from three years ago doesn't change now. It isn't the way to get what you want."

They both knew what she wanted, she wanted him to cave, to profess words of love that he always struggled to speak and make her forget all about the bimbo he'd had before.

She wriggled again.

"It can be." She pushed her hips out, managing to get him to reassure his footing with a step back but a heartbeat later he was back again, a strength overpowering her.

"Do you even remember what happened three years ago?" he growled, fed up with taking the blame for this. She stilled at this, her mind rolling back through the violence and tears. "You were in Galway." Appearing none the wiser, he continued. "You were engaged." Michael felt all of the tension drop from Fiona the second the memory lined up.

Fiona relaxed into Michael's grip.

She had taken a cover ID, she had played fiancée for two months to catch the bastard that had been responsible for an old friend's new problems. She hadn't told anyone though, she hadn't expected anyone to hear about it, she definitely didn't expect it to get back to Michael.

The fingers binding her arms released her.

"I did what I had to." he spoke softly.

She turned slowly, eyes on the ground, shoulder blades pressed to the wall. "Bullets, alcohol… women." He said the last in shame, but how many times had Fiona done the same? Michael left her and she went to the nearest club and grinded out against anyone, willing to forget the pain one night at a time.

"So… it's my fault?" she summed in a whisper. The accusation lacked the usual rage, but it was still in her eyes as they lifted to him for an answer.

"No." he sighed, running his ran through his hair. "This is my fault." Michael corrected. Fiona's gaze softened, her eyes met with his, finding an intense heat there. All too soon, he pulled away, eyes to the wall to his left. "It's my fault." he repeated. "I should have raced over to you and demanded you leave him."

Fiona blinked in surprise, the wall was still under intense scrutiny from Michael and she was considering an auditory hallucination, but what her brain replayed sounded exactly like the emotions he claimed not to be able to show.

It wasn't an 'I love you' but it was something so much more for Michael.

She reached out to him, fingers ghosting up the bicep that she'd made bleed.

"Michael." The anger was gone, there was nothing left but an echoing happiness softly caressing him. She gave a gentle push and he turned back to meet her, his eyes burning with passion. She swallowed, the emotions were overflowing from him and she knew exactly what was coming next.

She braced herself, arms winding around him as she met the wall again, his lips sealing to hers, his body pressing flush against hers.

"Fi." his voice rumbled against her, his hands on the straps of her dress and tugging them down. She was sweet pain and he loved to bathe in her touch. Her kisses were poison to drug him, her hands open flames, leaving trails of hot lust everywhere they touched.

She reached behind him, grabbing the bottom of the shirt and tugging it up. She didn't have the patience for buttons, up and over was so much quicker.

He should have expected her lust to fight back as powerfully, but when she curled her legs around his and pressed into his knee he wasn't planning on going down to the floor. She went with him straddling his hips, a cheeky smile on her face that said she had won.

"Fi…" he began, brushing her hair behind her ear so she would look at him. "I…" Those three words that she wanted. He wanted to give them to her, he really did.

She had her hands on his bare chest though, her fingernails lightly scratching and her smile growing with each claw.

"Don't." she grinned. "You don't need to say any more." Her smile descended, her lush lips pressing to him, her hands exploring down his ribs, down his sides, down to the waistband on his suit pants.

In two flicks of her fingers she had the belt and button undone and was lifting off him to squirrel the pants down his legs.

"Fi." Michael pounced before she could complete the task, rolling her over onto her back. "You made me bleed." And there was a spark in his eye, something was entertaining him.

"You'll heal." she batted back the remark, filled with tease and humour.

"It hurts." he lied, the adrenaline of the fight was still racing his veins, numbing the injuries he would feel in the morning. "My favourite arm." he carried on.

"I'll kiss it better." she offered, but made no effort to move.

"Or…" he reached down his leg to the knife holster at his ankle, he withdrew and poised it to Fiona's dress, the straps handing at her elbows, the bustier tight but already slipping to reveal the matching bra. He said nothing else as he took the knife to the front seam.

"You dare." she hissed. "I like this d-"

But he'd cut the material.

Her fist came again and he blocked it.

"Ah, ah." he corrected, stilling her body with his. One hand pinning her wrists above her head, the other on her thigh. She paused, staring up at him with mischief in her eyes.

"That was my favourite dress." she spoke evenly, feeling the cold metal of the blade pressed against her thigh where he held her. His hands were full, and she was able to free one of hers and slip it down, over his arm, down his back, to rest at the band of his boxers. "You owe me a new dress." she whispered to him, biting on his earlobe and drawing out a moan. Michael's body flexed against hers in the most delicious ways. "I really," her talons squeezed at his buttock, "Really," they slipped around to the front of his boxers and opened up the cradle between her legs even further, "Really," she cupped the hard length he concealed and gave a short rub through the material, "liked this dress." Her teeth nibbled at his ear again and he lessened his concentration enough that she was able to strike out and release his grip on both her and the weapon. She head butted him and shifted her weight in a move that had him flat on his back and her straddling her favourite part of him.

He blinked back the darkness and pain to find the threat of a close shave pressed against his jugular, but Fi was grinning her favourite playful smile and dropped her head tilt of tease.

"I guess I should apologise." she breathed out, sliding her body down against him and trailing her nose against his neck, where the cologne rested. "But I don't want to." Mindful of putting too much pressure with the knife she held him with, she sat back up on him. "So I won't." she took her free hand down his bare chest and lifted herself enough to palm his erection once more. "Thoughts?" Her fingers grew bored of the barrier and pushed the cotton down enough to free what she wanted. She stroked the length slowly, watching the way his face changed in pleasure, the way his eyes screwed up tight. She increased the pressure of the knife marginally, wanting his eyes to drink her in while she pleased him. He reacted as any good spy would, grabbing at the arm that held the knife and holding it tight. His other hand went to her hips, instead of her throat like it would have had the threat been real. He rocked her forward, grinding her hips against him, not enough to get the touch he wanted, but enough to interrupt her control. Still, he didn't make a move against the knife like she expected. She questioned him with her eyes.

"Just wondering. Do the panties match the bra?" he grunted out, his adam's apple moving against the blade.

She smiled in answer, something bright and fabulously sinful.

Her hand stopped stroking the erection and instead positioned it right where he wanted, answering his question in the same motion.

"Who said I was wearing any panties?"

He groaned deeply, rumbling it through his chest as she sunk down on him.

"Fi." he moaned out, his fingers gripping her tight.

The illusion of fight was long gone. Fiona had the control she wanted and had given as much of an apology as Michael would ever get. She crashed herself to him, her lips meshed with his, her hand freeing the knife from between them and shooting it out at the wall. It sounded like it found purchase in a wall, neither cared enough to confirm. All they needed was the lusting pistoning of his hips meeting the slow grind of hers.

In that moment, healthy or not, there was no thoughts of the Polish model with legs that went on for miles. There was no consideration for the shambles of a marriage she faked entering into. There was Michael and Fiona without labels, without declarations of love, just sating the need and desire. They took reassurances from the battle for domination; the more each fought, the more they showed they cared.

It ended with Fiona reclaiming her place on top, and she collapsed into her lover's chest thoroughly exhausted. His hands tangled into her hair, curling her into his body. In a twisted way, it was the only moment of peace they found, after the storm had passed; before the next arrived.

Both froze as the door lock disengaged.

"Hey Mike, there's this…" Sam. They relaxed minimally. There was a pause where Sam's brain processed the sight before him and he must have looked up. "You know what…I'll handle it." His footsteps headed out much faster than they came in, his fingers fumbling with the door as he relocked it.

"Don't even think for a minute I've forgiven you." Fiona exclaimed, slapping a hand to his chest and pushing up.

"Fi."

"Not until after round 2 at least." she purred and he found himself dragged back into pleasure, her teeth biting his earlobe.


End file.
